


I can't see without the lights

by ethos



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Coercion, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Nudity, Solid!Odo, Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 18:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30127140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethos/pseuds/ethos
Summary: "I'm a simple man,” Quark says, and the predatory way he glances Odo up and down leaves no ambiguity to his intent. "I've always believed in an eye for an eye."--Odo crosses a line during his surveillance of Quark, and Quark picks the consequences.
Relationships: Odo/Quark (Star Trek)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	I can't see without the lights

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song “Knife Under My Pillow” by Maggie Lindemann.
> 
> Please heed the tags on this one.

"So, constable," Quark says. "Just how are we going to resolve this issue?"

Odo looks away from Quark, without an answer.

They’re alone in his office, and it’s too late to be doing this, but they're doing it anyway.

He's avoided Quark for days since the initial confrontation; he's apologized profusely. _Professionally_. None of it mattered.

And now? Well. Odo supposes this must be the second confrontation. The one that, with Quark, invariably leads to negotiation.

For what felt like an eternity, he watched through his window as Quark approached, his body locked in his chair as a tight, twisting dread formed in his stomach. He knew this moment would come, but he's unprepared for it.

With him here now, Odo keeps his eyes fixed on his viewscreen in a half-hearted attempt to ignore Quark, who’s perched on the edge of the desk with one foot propped up on Odo's chair, boxing him in.

The gall of Quark’s position does not exactly surprise Odo. Quark has him cornered in more ways than one.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Odo lies.

" _Odo_ ," Quark says, infuriatingly chastising. “I know it’s been a few days, but come on. Playing coy isn’t a cute look on you. I _caught_ you.” Quark taps the chair with his foot and laughs. “What a funny thought. _Me_ catching _you_.”

This is becoming unbearable. Quark's boots on everything, his groin pointedly shoved in Odo’s line of sight. Odo kicks his chair back just enough so Quark’s foot slips, and Quark nearly falls from the desk.

“Hey!”

“Sit in a chair like you’re supposed to,” Odo says. “And then we’ll talk.”

“If I were you, I’d be treating me a little better right now,” Quark warns, but he lets Odo have this one. He settles in the chair across from him, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the desk.

Odo’s fingers twitch, watching him. He wants to wrap his hands around Quark’s neck. He's wanted to do that even before Quark sat on his desk. He’s wanted to ever since Quark did that _disgusting_ thing, the thing Odo didn’t even _mean_ to witness, the thing that’s causing all these problems.

Oh, he’ll treat him better, alright. He’ll--

“Don’t be like that, Odo,” Quark says, reading his face. “You really have no defense here. We both understand that, don’t we?”

That’s not completely true. He’s station security. _That’s_ a defense. That’s the one he’s decided to fall back on should any of this actually come out into the open.

It sounds flimsy even in his own head.

Odo finally drags his gaze away from the viewscreen, but he only manages to make the briefest eye contact with Quark before dropping it back down again. 

“What do you want?” he asks. Clear, direct. Not at all indicative of the chaos trapped inside him.

"I'm a simple man," Quark says, and the predatory way he glances Odo up and down leaves no ambiguity to his intent. "I've always believed in an eye for an eye."

Odo balks. He turns his body fully away from Quark. "If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, the answer is no."

"Aw, you're suddenly gonna go shy?" Quark says, his tone turning nasty, like he’s actually becoming angry. And then he’s leaning further into Odo's space, practically crawling over the desk to get near him, dropping his voice low: "You weren't so shy when you spied on me, were you, Odo? When you watched me _fuck myself_ through that camera of yours.”

Odo recoils.

The memories flood back, their grip on him as unrelenting and paralyzing as ever. He fights against them; he fails. That’s something about being solid he’s still getting used to: the vivid, fervid way memories play out as an echo of the original experience, overtaking him like he’s a captive along for the ride.

Without trying to, he sees himself breaking into Quark’s quarters, practically feels his hands planting an excessive amount of illegal microphones and cameras. Sees clearly in his mind’s eye the way he kicked his feet up on his desk and watched the feed of Quark’s private moments, watched as Quark slipped his hand into his trousers, and didn’t stop watching until every nasty thing was done.

And he sees himself doing it again--watching that tape _again and again_ , night after night--overtaken with some perverse, bodily urge he doesn’t recognize in himself. Like a heathen.

Like a criminal.

Odo clenches his jaw and turns his face even farther away from Quark. He can’t stop seeing it, can’t stop remembering it, and every look at Quark brings it all back.

“I’m getting tired of all these rhetorical questions,” is all he says, because there’s nothing left for him to say. Quark said it all. “But just in case I need to reiterate it to you, Quark: _no_. I’m not going to--to--”

“To what, Odo?”

Odo swallows. His throat is unbearably dry. “To do _that_ in front of you.”

“Say it.”

“No!” He slams his fist on the desk, glancing sharply at Quark, and he leans forward in his chair, portraying a confidence he doesn’t have. “Just tell me what you want, Quark. Is it latinum? For me to cut you a break? Codes to the station?”

“I’ve got codes.” Quark waves his hand to dismiss the suggestions. “Let’s just look at the facts here: you’ve seen me masturbate, and I haven’t seen you masturbate. That’s not fair,” he says. “ _You_ planted illegal cameras in my quarters, _you_ watched me like some fucking voyeur, and _you_ were stupid enough to save the footage. _You_ got caught.”

“I’m not a voyeur,” Odo says, quite unconvinced.

He doesn't know what he is anymore. He knows what he’s not: not a changeling, and not really a security officer either, if Quark of all people can manage to find his surveillance and blackmail him over it.

“I bet you watched me to completion.”

Yes. “No,” Odo lies again. The memory of _that_ \--of keeping his eyes fixed on the viewscreen, frozen in his chair, some perverse and disturbing human urge compelling him to keep the feed running--hardly feels real anymore. Like a vague sort of dream. Like it didn’t even happen.

The memory of what he did after, of returning home and slipping his hand under the covers and touching himself to the thought of Quark...now that does feel very real, very raw, like a shameful truth he can’t deny.

All seven times he’s done it.

“Whatever,” Quark says, clicking his tongue. He props himself up. “Being human has turned you into a pervert, Odo. You’re like me now.”

“No.”

“And you need to pay for it,” Quark continues. “Let me see you naked.”

Odo looks away, just like he does every time Quark negotiates this point directly. His thoughts are racing too fast for him to parse through. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get out of this; there’s no plan, no precedent for this horrible situation Quark’s trapped him in. This one he’s trapped himself in.

He’s deathly afraid of Quark approaching the captain or anyone else on the station about this.

It was a stupid idea.

 _This_ is a stupid idea.

But Odo pushes forward anyway.

“Will that be it?” he asks finally, glancing back toward Quark. “You see me naked, and nothing else?”

One thing Odo knows for sure: he will never drop his trousers and touch himself in front of Quark. Or anyone. Ever.

Quark tilts his head, weighing the question for a cruelly long time. He bites his lip, his face inches from Odo’s own. “Sure,” he agrees, smirking in that slow, raw way that makes Odo's neck crawl. “I think that’ll be enough.”

The intimacy of their physical proximity and the weight of the situation manage to corner Odo even further, and it flusters him.

He flinches. “Get the hell out of here, Quark.”

Quark opens his mouth to reply, thinks a moment, and decides better of it. He shrugs and pulls himself up from the desk, brushing off his suit with a level of ease that resembles nothing of Odo’s own terror. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Odo.”

When Odo doesn't respond, Quark gives a quick, breathy laugh and winks. He disappears out the door, and Odo waits for him to return, because sometimes Quark likes to do that, but this time he doesn’t.

Odo tries to focus on the objective facts of his situation, a difficult effort with images of Quark still bombarding his mind.

He’s negotiated Quark down. That's something.

He's going to strip in front of Quark. _That_ _'s_ something, too. Something vile.

The logical part of Odo's brain--what's left of it, anyway--tells him that Quark's deal could be worse, that taking his clothes off in Quark’s presence isn't the most horrifying way this could have ended.

If he was still a changeling, that logical part of his brain might mean something. Now, as evident from his behavior in the last few weeks, logic means nothing while trapped in a solid body. He could have all the facts lined up in front of him, he could have all the justice in the world, and he’d still feel completely and terribly wronged by all the events unfolding.

Quark’s actions don't feel benevolent, or fair, or right. They feel dirty. Logic notwithstanding, something in Odo's gut says that what he just agreed to is _not_ in his favor.

He leaves his office with stiff legs and an aching back from sitting so tensely for so long. All his will from before has left, leaving him in a jittery, unsatisfied state of anxiety. Whether it’s nerves from the confrontation, nerves for what's to come, or just plain libido, he's too inexperienced to know.

The chaotic nature of his feelings, compounded by his complete inability to parse through any of it, makes Odo feel deeply, unbearably human.

***

The next evening, he’s disturbed but not surprised when Quark shows up to his quarters, drunk and staggering.

He expected Quark’s presence, of course. They'd made a deal.

What he hadn’t expected is the way Quark balls his fist into his uniform shirt and pulls them close enough so that Odo can feel Quark’s solid, warm shape pressed against him. It’s a uniquely jarring experience, and new to Odo. He hates it.

“You’re drunk!” Odo exclaims, disgusted. He grabs Quark stiffly by the shoulders and guides him to the couch, leaving a safe distance between them. He doesn’t actually believe Quark is attempting a pass, but caution never hurts.

For a moment, manhandling Quark tricks Odo into thinking any of this could be normal, like they might be slipping back into their usual routine.

That quickly changes when Quark collapses on the couch and blinks up at him, running his tongue across his teeth in what Odo only guesses is a clumsy attempt to appear seductive. Quark, oblivious as ever, seems too drunk to recognize that Odo’s fear of the situation keeps him from being anything close to interested.

“Let’s do this, Odo,” Quark purrs. “Though I’m going to go ahead and wager ten strips you won’t be able to do it. You’ve always had trouble taking what you dish out.”

Odo ignores the bait. “It feels inappropriate to do this while you’re inebriated, Quark.”

Quark points a finger at him. “That was too easy! You owe me ten strips.” He sinks further into the cushions, kicking his legs out like he’s trying to take up as much space as possible. He arches his back, stretching his arms above his head. “And if you cared about being inappropriate, maybe you shouldn’t have spied on me masturbating in my own fucking quarters.”

Quark’s bluntness goes straight to Odo’s stomach and twists something deep inside. His body becomes suddenly and unbearably hot, like something embarrassingly human is happening.

He’s too ignorant to tell whether it’s anger, or arousal, or both. He doesn’t want to know. All he knows is the reality of the images inflicted on him: Quark in his own quarters, naked and unabashed, revealing everything Odo never thought he wanted to see.

And it’s not like he’s a completely wide-eyed freak. He’s seen people masturbate before: drunks in the brig, certain exhibitionistic aliens. No new feelings there. He’s seen a lot. More than enough. But all those incidents involved relevant strangers, and this one involved _Quark_ , someone who’s an enemy and a friend that riles him up in a manner which makes him feel more sorts of ways than anyone else has in his life.

Odo clears his throat. “I didn’t _spy_ on you--”

Quark holds a hand up, and Odo stops.

“Save it, Odo. I’m not here to listen to your denials, okay?” Quark says simply. “I don’t care. You did something bad, and you need to pay for it.”

Quark’s inebriation is making him bolder than usual, and crass, and even more controlling. It only confirms to Odo what he already fears: this is the worst thing he’s ever agreed to in his life.

Someone should stop this. _He_ should stop this.

But he doesn't, and neither does Quark.

Looking at Quark splayed out on the couch once again conjures up those other memories, the _bad_ memories, the ones of Quark spread out on his own couch, his hand sliding under fabric, his head thrown back. Those images were through a viewscreen, but these are in his own goddamn quarters. The complete and utter surrealness of it all jolts Odo into movement.

He strides away from Quark and begins pacing around the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He can’t look at Quark anymore. All he sees is Quark writhing beneath the pleasure of his own touch, gasping and making the strangest, most compelling noises, looking like someone who is just dying to be--

Odo shakes his head, still pacing. He doesn’t want to see it, he shouldn’t have to see it, _he should have never seen it_.

“You don’t even feel guilty,” Quark says in disbelief, watching him; not a question, but a statement. He sits up, turning on his hip so he can prop his head forward and watch Odo pace. “You pretend to be so high and mighty, but in reality you’ll violate anyone’s privacy, for any reason. Always have.”

Odo snorts, but he doesn’t deny it. Quark’s not exactly wrong about that last part.

The first? Well. He _does_ feel guilty, sure, and that’s strange enough as it is: a weird heaviness in the pit of his stomach, one that’s been a near-constant, revolting ache in the background of his life since _it_ happened--a weight occasionally exacerbated by conversations like this one. But mostly he feels selfish. Unhinged. Like he’s already naked, and like he's grasping for a control he doesn’t have anymore over his relationship with Quark, over his new body, over his life.

Odo admits none of this.

In the silence, Quark continues, slurring on his words as a deep-seated, alarming anger overtakes him: “You’re such a hypocrite! I _should_ tell everyone about what you did, you nasty fucker. But I won’t...as long as you play fair, Odo.”

For the first time, Odo considers the possibility that Quark could be just as humiliated by the situation as he is. Odo stops, runs a hand across his face and exhales. “Quark, I know you’re upset, and you’re trying to embarrass me, however--”

“Just take your clothes off, Odo.” Quark recovers from his outburst, moving into a bitter spitefulness. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

He’s getting tired of Quark ordering him around, so much so he doesn't bother to unpack what that statement could possibly mean, but he doesn’t know what he can do about it. There’s nothing he can do about it.

The thing about following Quark’s orders, well, it’s that the whole ordeal has a particularly unique way of humiliating Odo. Quite literally, Quark is dressing him down. Laying him bare. That would humiliate just about anyone. So when it comes time to put his hands on his belt and get everything over with, Odo finds his fingers shaking with an anxious, overwhelming energy.

He can’t do this. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t--

He can't admit this truth to Quark. Something about that thought keeps him from completely breaking down. With one quick, deep breath, he tries to shut his brain off and become the unfeeling, mechanical freak he’s always, only ever been.

He undresses the same way he’s undressed since becoming human: efficiently, and without looking at his body. He steps from his boots, unclasps his belt, pulls his shirt off, and slides his trousers down in what feels like a lifetime but can only be a few seconds.

Quark’s gaze burns into him--a prickly, invading presence that makes the hair on Odo’s neck stand up--and it comes as no surprise that the only thing a drunken Quark manages to focus on is someone undressing. The predictability of it all almost makes Odo laugh, but of course he doesn’t. There’s no humor in this.

He’s overwhelmed, doing his best not to look anywhere near Quark.

And it’s not just that he’s shy. It’s _not_ just that.

He’s ashamed. He’s vulnerable.

He’s become hard in his boxer briefs, abhorrently enough. The reasons for that aren't completely clear to him, but he suspects it's from the stress of the situation, or perhaps the embarrassment. Or maybe it’s just the reality of undressing in front of another person for the first time.

The reasons don't matter. He doesn't care _why_ , he just wants it all to stop.

It doesn't stop. The dim lighting and the darkness of the fabric are the only things saving him from the further humiliation of Quark noticing.

He’s still got two items of clothing to go: his briefs, and his socks. Odo opts to focus on the latter.

He sits down on the cushion farthest from Quark, keeps his gaze pointedly fixed on everything _but_ Quark, and begins to take a pathetically long time pulling off his crew socks. It’s a strategic decision. He hopes the new position will help hide certain developments, and that the delay might save him completely.

Quark’s eyes follow his movements, a constantly penetrating and unwanted presence in the corner of his eye. The irony of the situation is not lost on Odo. He wonders if Quark planned for this all along, if he even thought so deeply. Probably not.

He feels open for inspection, exposed and unable to do anything about it. Like he’s revealing every raw inch of himself to his worst enemy, and nothing else in the world could possibly make this worse.

Quark breaks the silence: “You’re beautiful, Odo.”

So things can get worse.

Odo scoffs, nearly chokes. “Quark, please. Don’t do that.”

“I mean it.”

Odo looks to him, if only to read his face, and his expression is sincere enough. Drunk and stupid, but sincere. 

“Sexy, if you’d prefer,” Quark continues, unperturbed and rambling. “Am I the only one that knows this about you? Besides Doctor Bashir, I guess.”

Odo still hasn’t looked down at his body, but he doesn’t need to. He’s not a fool. “I realize this is all some sick, twisted game to you, Quark, but if you’d kindly try not to feed me a line--”

“Odo,” Quark says, and he changes the subject just as suddenly as before, without prompt: “I have a few more rhetorical questions for you, ones I was too afraid to ask before.”

Odo’s heart drops into his stomach. He doesn’t want Quark to ask him anything.

He’s stripped down, out in the open, and every emotion running through his body is also crawling all over his face.

But Quark’s compliments have done something terrible to him. They’ve made him actually believe what Quark is saying. It weakens the last bit of resolve--the last barrier--he’s tried to put up between them.

He opts to delay the inevitable, clinging to the conversation like there’s a chance Quark might actually pass out before anything happens. “Go ahead, Quark. Ask me whatever the hell it is you need to know.”

“How many times did you watch me?”

Oh, no. This won’t help at all.

“Not that, Quark,” Odo pleads. “Don't ask me that.”

“Was it more than once?”

The truth falls out of Odo like something he wants to get rid of. “Of course it was.”’

“How many times?” Quark asks again.

“Seven.”

That number actually seems to surprise Quark. “Seven,” he repeats, running his tongue across his teeth, grinning like an idiot. Even with the distance between them, Quark’s own arousal is palpable to the senses. And targeted directly at Odo. “Did you masturbate? To the thought of me?”

Odo hesitates, but there’s nothing he could admit now that’s worse than this. “Afterwards, yes.”

“Couldn’t bring yourself to do it in your office,” Quark guesses. “That’s too dirty.”

Odo nods, afraid to speak now, and he turns away. Something hard has formed in his throat, preventing him from thinking clearly. Something that feels a lot like grief.

Grief for what? His old self? His _new_ self? Odo doesn't understand, and he doubts he ever will. He chose to surveil Quark through the lens of a camera because he could no longer do it while blended into the wall. Something about that seems so pathetic and dirty and sad, especially now, as he sits nearly naked in front of Quark.

Odo rubs at his face with his hands, and he never ends up pulling his face away, choosing instead to bury it into his palms like he might be able to get away with never raising himself back up.

“Odo, look at me.”

Odo nearly curses at Quark, overcome with a sudden righteous anger at Quark putting them in this situation. Despite his better judgement, he straightens up and drags his eyes back to where Quark is still leaning into the couch.

Quark gives him a cryptic look. “Do you trust me?”

“No, Quark.”

Quark blinks, clearly offended. “Be serious, Odo. I mean for real.”

Odo almost says, _I am serious, you fucking criminal_ , but he doesn’t. He can’t. Instead, he says: “Sure, why not. I trust you.”

Quark takes the gesture. “Then trust me now.”

“What?”

“Computer, lights off.”

Odo has never felt more scared in his life, nearly naked and trapped in a pitch-black room with a drunken Quark. He panics, digging his fingers into the edge of the couch in an attempt to pull himself up, afraid Quark might be stupid enough to try and hurt him.

But then there’s a voice too close to him, _Quark’s_ voice, right next to his ear: “I'm going to undress you, Odo.”

Somehow that scares him more, but Odo lets it happen because it’s dark and they’re alone and they’ve already crossed the point of no return so it’s not like anything matters anymore.

Take his clothes off in front of Quark. Let Quark take his clothes off. What meaningful difference is there at this point?

With all other senses muted, the feeling of Quark sliding off his briefs is potent and bizarre and more arousing than Odo can admit. Quark takes his time, suspiciously slow. With everything else that’s happened between them, Odo half-expects Quark is gearing up to ask him for a sexual favor.

But then steady hands are pressing against his chest, guiding him to lie back onto the cushions, and the hands are so warm and the room so cold that Odo submits without question. He wonders if this is what intimacy--physical, _solid_ intimacy--feels like, if this warmth is anything close to what a lover’s embrace might feel like. Then Quark is burying his face into Odo’s lap and Odo isn’t wondering anything at all.

“ _Quark!_ ” he nearly screams. He sounds like someone else, high-pitched and wild.

He moves to grab Quark by the ear and yank him up, but he stops just short of making contact. A hot, wet mouth around his cock compels him not to.

“ _Quark_...what are you--why...” He doesn’t finish the question.

Instead, he sinks further into the couch, hyper-focused on the sensation of Quark running his tongue along his length. It blots out everything else--the situation, the doubt, the fact that it’s _Quark_.

Odo melts into the mouth around him, distracted and completely overcome. For a delirious moment, he thinks he’s actually _melting_ , turning into a liquid state again and losing control in the worst kind of way.

He never stood a chance against this, never would have been able to turn it away. Quark probably knows that.

And _Quark._..gods. He’s pulling the most humiliating noises from Odo’s lips--breathy hitches and whines and moans that Odo doesn’t recognize from himself, sounds he never made while alone with his own hand. The sounds catch in his mouth and remind him a little too much of begging. Uncomfortably close. But the more he tries to quiet himself, the louder he seems to become, and eventually Odo gives up and leans into it because every time he moans, Quark takes him deeper.

Eventually Odo clamps his own hand over his mouth and bites into his fingers, afraid of what he might say otherwise, not really wanting to know what he might say. What he could admit. What he could _actually_ beg for. And he doubts Quark, who’s practically _purring_ around his cock, circling his tongue around him in a satisfied kind of way, really wants to know, either.

Quark’s weight against him, the pressure of his hands, the sounds he's making in the dark--

It all becomes too much, and Odo reaches the edge.

“Quark,” he gasps between his fingers. “I’m going to--”

He doesn’t want to come in Quark’s mouth, but it happens anyway: a quick jolt of his hips that brushes his cock against the back of Quark’s throat, and then he's whining into his palm and seeing stars all over the pitch-black room, every inch of Quark's mouth mapped out against him.

The experience stays like this, frozen in time, until he's completely drained from everything, from Quark, and fading into the couch.

His face feels funny. He thinks he might be in shock.

"I can't believe you just did that," he says, his voice a strange interruption in the darkness. He rolls his head back and stares up at the ceiling without actually being able to see anything.

Quark is lost somewhere in between his knees. "You and me both, beautiful."

Odo cringes at the nickname. "You didn't plan that?"

"Not quite, no." Quark uses Odo's thighs to push himself from the floor. He crawls up Odo until he's breathing right against his neck.

It's strange to have Quark right next to him now, while every piece of his skin feels raised and sensitive to the touch, ready to go, but Odo doesn't push him away. He's distracted, replaying in his mind the events that just happened, trying to reconcile them with everything else that's happened. He doesn't quite succeed.

"You're sick," Odo tells him. "That was a sick thing you just did."

He feels more than sees Quark shrug against him. "Maybe," he says. "But you liked it, so shut up.”

Quark’s own erection is pressing clearly against Odo’s thigh, but Quark doesn’t ask for anything, and Odo doesn’t offer, either.

Odo wants to argue against that point, finds himself falling into the familiar headspace of disagreeing with Quark, but he drops the subject. He’s distracted enough as it is. Light flickers in the corners of his vision, and he’s still melting into a puddle.

He should focus on all this and enjoy the moment, but that would be too easy. "It’s your turn to answer a question for me, Quark."

Quark makes a non-committal noise.

"Why did you do that?"

Quark pauses, and he inhales slowly, enough to convince Odo he’s actually going to respond. As with everything regarding Quark, it’s a misdirection.

Quark presses a chaste kiss to Odo's cheek without saying anything, and then he's crawling down Odo's naked body as quickly as he climbed up, and Odo never gets the answer.

Fading footsteps tell Odo Quark is walking away. The doors to his quarters slide open, and he catches only a momentary glimpse of Quark's silhouette against the blinding light of the hall before the doors shut behind him.

Oh, well. Maybe Odo doesn't really want to know. Maybe he doesn't need to. Maybe that kiss was answer enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be a longer fic that followed the events of Odo’s bad behavior from start to finish. That didn't work out, and this is what did.


End file.
